Falling

The whiskey burned ferociously as it snaked its way down towards her empty stomach. Alone in the crowded bar, there was nothing to distract the pale faced woman from the pounding of her head save for the glass in her hand. With a wry smile, she swirled it listlessly and watched the amber liquid crackle and dance in the harsh light of the bare bulb overhead.

The no-good son of a bitch had stood her up again. She should have expected it. He’d done nothing but let her down time and time again over the past year, but still she kept on putting herself out there for him to hurt her once more. She could tell herself that this was the last time she’d let him do it, but what use would it be?

She’d know she was lying.

He wasn’t coming. Time to skulk home and cry herself to sleep whilst awaiting the inevitable phone call full of feeble excuses that showed how little he really cared.

But when she slammed the glass down on the grime-streaked bar and made to slip down from the teetering stool she was so precariously balanced upon, the door behind her swung open. She tensed, nervous anticipation flooding her aching body, but it wasn’t him.

No. Not him. Just someone else; someone she couldn’t tear her eyes away from for even a heartbeat. As the chill air of the winter night outside whipped around him, he shook a curtain of dark hair out of his face and strode forward, effortlessly carving out a path through the crowd.

He was perfect. All heads turned towards him, though he seemed not to notice. His green eyes were fixed upon the bar. Unsmiling, he shrugged off his jacket and took the stool that had somehow become free when he approached it. Too far away. She dared not approach him, but when the crowd briefly thinned she had the briefest of glimpses of him once more.

By the time she could no longer see him again, it was too late. She was lost to him. Nothing she did could free her mind of the grip he had upon it. He consumed her, set a fire raging deep inside her that was impossible to defy. Overcome, she snatched up her drink with a shaking hand and poured it down her constricted throat, ice and whiskey alike.

She slammed the glass back down and choked back a loud sob. Before she could do anything to recompose herself, though, a hand gently touched her arm.

Her head shot up.

The bartender set another whiskey down in front of her and swept her empty glass away. She lifted an eyebrow in question and he jerked his head towards the far end of the bar. “From the guy with the long hair. Says you look like you could do with it.”

Even from the distance between them, it seemed her misery was palpable. Her heart pounding, she slowly leaned forwards and ran her hands through her hair as she glanced in his direction under the cover of checking the dusty clock behind him.

He was staring directly at her, and their eyes met along the length of the bar. Her breath hitched as he slowly raised his glass to her before, still not smiling, he lifted it to his sinfully full lips and downed the whiskey in one.

Her head spun for reasons that were nothing to do with the alcohol rushing through her bloodstream. Dazed, she hastily dropped her eyes and breathed in deeply before following his example and slamming back her drink. She revelled in the warmth that spread through her body, for it brought with it a clarity of mind that had been lacking for far, far too long.

When she looked up again he was gone, but it was okay.

Tonight when the phone call came, she knew she wouldn’t meekly accept whatever excuse her boyfriend fabricated for her. He wouldn’t be staggering in blind drunk to share her bed, and he wouldn’t be the reason for her to hunch over the bathroom sink, tears streaming down her flushed face as she etched out the marks of her misery on an arm already criss-crossed with a year’s worth of scars.

He wasn’t worth it. She finally saw the truth of it. There was far better out there and she had already wasted a year of her life not seeing it. She wouldn’t waste even a moment more.

With a decisive nod, she wrenched the diamond ring off her finger and dropped it into the empty glass before walking away.

Célèbre

“I can offer you forever beauty,” he whispered as he let a lock of her honeyed hair fall through his fingers.   “Forever like this, forever adored...don’t you want that?”

His softly spoken words of seduction wove around her in a haze of desire. How she wanted that! Time would steal her beauty from her, she knew that with an agonising clarity – but he promised her all that she wanted.

She moistened her lips. With a tremulous nod of the head, she gave her wordless agreement.

With a rapidity that was impossible to defend against, he pressed the gleaming blade against the milk-white curve of her throat.

One cut, neat and precise. Her beauty unmarred, forever preserved, just as he had promised.

Forever remembered.

My Old Friend

So, I realised today that it's been a while since I posted any fiction; and to rectify that, here's a little story that was conceived at 4am a few nights ago.


My Old Friend

I knew him so very well.

Him...I suppose that’s a little strange, isn’t it, to have attributed such a strong and developed personality to something that is entirely intangible; and even, to some, incomprehensible. But when he had been my constant and relentless companion for so many years, he had a very real and unshakeable presence in my consciousness.

He was always there. Sometimes – maybe even for months at a time – he’d lurk almost unnoticed right in the furthest recesses of my head. More often than not, though, he was right there at the front consuming all of me. Every thought, every desire, every breath...it was all about him.

And I hated him. Oh, how I hated him! He made me resent myself, you see – resent what I had become because of him. I no longer even recognised the person I was. I was a stranger, even to myself; and this new person wasn’t someone I wanted to be.

I knew that I had to rid myself of him; to purge myself of his toxic presence and his noxious embrace. He was suffocating. Have you ever felt like that? You must have done, at some moment in your life. The best way I can describe it is to think of the most terrible panic and fear you’ve ever felt. Remember how it constricts your chest, how it churns your stomach and lifts you high on the black wings of terror as you fight even to breathe? That’s how I felt living with him.

Is it any wonder that I couldn’t take it any longer?

I’m not sharing this with you as retribution, or even as a plea for understanding or compassion. Don’t think that, because it simply isn’t so. I’m just stating it how it is, so that if you find yourself being slowly but surely gnawed away at by someone like him, maybe you won’t make the same mistake I did.

The problem was that nothing I did seemed to get rid of him. I could hide him away and pretend even to myself that he didn’t even exist, but if I ever let my guard down for just a moment, he would be back; and each time he returned, he was somehow stronger and more possessive than ever before.

Enough was enough. I knew that he was never going to go away of his own accord. I had to take matters into my own hands – and in through the storm cloud of misery that had descended upon my sleep-deprived and tormented mind, I could see only one solution.

It was all so easy.

One little pill, two little pills.

Three little pills, four little pills.

Five little pills, six little pills.

And on I went until the little jar’s contents had all danced along my tongue and down my waiting throat.

So easy.

Next, the bottle of bourbon on the worktop joined the party. I had to be sure; I hadn’t come this far only for him to defeat me now. Then all I had to do was wait.

But it didn’t go down like I had expected it to. I expected to feel nothing but relief as my life slipped away from me, relief to be freed of the shackles of his possession – but instead, I realised what a terrible mistake I had made.

I’d never seen it before. Too eaten up by all that he was, I’d never even stopped to dream of a life without him. All I thought of was getting rid of him – not living without him.

I knew in that moment why people fought so hard to cling onto life with all that they were.

Too late.

Gone.

Bonus points to anyone who knows the song that the title is a nod towards...

Kate.

Tuesday Tales - The Belfry

TUESDAY TALES

This path has not been walked for many hundreds of years, and for good reason.

She knows what awaits her in the belfry, but unlike those who were entrusted to guard it before her, Camilla can resist the call no longer.

Compelled, her hand closes around the frost encrusted brass handle. The door swings open at her command, and Camilla recoils from the putrid smell of damp and decay that instantly assaults her. She cannot turn back, even though she gags on a rising tide of bile as she resolutely sets foot on the uneven cobbles at the base of the winding steps.

Simply placing one foot in front of another has never been so difficult before.  Shadows dance around her, drawing her further into the loving embrace of the darkness with every step that she takes. Crimson streaks of blood from centuries past adorn the cobwebbed walls; barely visible through the deepening gloom, but the metallic, cloying scent that hangs heavy in the air is unmistakable.

Her blood sings with the thrill of anticipation as she climbs higher, working her way up the spiralling steps until she can do so no longer.

Her path is barred by a trapdoor overhead. Camilla knows what is now just moments away, and her hands shake as she stretches them up to lift the rotting wood that stands between her and her destiny.

Weak sunshine breaks through the planks of wood as they crumble beneath her touch, illuminating what is above her. Digging her fingers into the floorboards over her head, Camilla prays grimly that they will not give way as she vaults through the gap that she has exposed and lands in a feline manner safely upon the floor of the enclosed belfry.

It is there.

Just as she had read, the vast, awe-inspiring bell hangs proudly from the ceiling beams. Dirt lays thick upon it, for it has not been rung in over six hundred years. The thin rays of sunlight that penetrate the grime smeared across the pane of glass above the bell reflect against the clouds of dust that rise up into the air, disturbed by Camilla’s intrusion into their sanctity.

Without even a moment of hesitation, she reaches for the woven, knotted rope attached to the mechanism of the bell. For half a dozen centuries it has waited, and time has taken its toll upon it. The rope disintegrates beneath her firm grasp.

Camilla unleashes a low howl of frustration, but she will not be defied; the calling is too strong. There is nothing for it – the ceiling beams now offer the only access to the bell that must be rang.

A shivering stab of yearning spreads through her veins as she climbs gracefully onto the bench that had been pushed up against the stone wall, tenses, then leaps as high as she can, catching hold of the ceiling beam above her.

Her grip is sure, and she swings from one beam to the next until, finally, her slender legs dangle in front of the bell. Gathering momentum, Camilla rocks back and forth, holding her breath as she makes contact with the cold, smooth metal.

Her unclad feet push it forwards, but it barely moves before settling back into its position without ringing as it must. Gathering all her strength, she swings again, and again, and again – and then, success!

With a loud, ominous clang, the clapper crashes against the body of the bell, reverberating through the stones of the belfry and the wooden beams.

Camilla cries out as the peal of the bell shakes the wood and tears it free of her grasp. She tumbles through the air, towards the open trapdoor beneath her – is this how it must end, before she even sees the living proof of her triumph?

No. A pair of hands snatch her out of the air, arresting her fall and dragging her into their owner’s body.

She twists her head up to gaze upon him in awe. Oh, but he is everything she dreamed he would be! The raging heat of his body sears her skin, but Camilla cares not – he is here.

“My lord!” Her whisper is hushed, reverent, and a satisfied smile curves back his scarlet lips.

“My most faithful servant. I am pleased.”

The demon’s curt words of praise inflame her just as surely as a lover’s embrace. Camilla presses herself up against him and gazes into his eyes; eyes that are as black as the depths of midnight, save for the flicker of amber flames smouldering in the very back of them. Entranced, she shivers with delight as he winds his hand through her hair.

“Camilla, will you do one more favour for me?” His voice is low, compelling and irresistible.

She nods eagerly. “Oh, anything!”

His smile widens. “I have seen and experienced the full spectrum of humanity’s sins, my Camilla, but there is one that I glory in and thrive upon above all else. It gives me sustenance, and that, Camilla, is what I now need above all else.”

Her breath quickens as she prepares to give herself to him entirely, sighing with pleasure as he pulls back her head back and stares at her parted lips. Camilla closes her eyes.

They will never open again.

In one fluid, rapid motion, the demon twists her neck and snaps it cleanly from the spine.

Inhaling deeply, he rises to his feet and drinks in the life force that flees from Camilla’s body as his high, triumphant laughter echoes around the cavernous belfry.

Brushing down the dust from his body, he lets Camilla’s broken body fall forgotten to the floor as he stalks down the stone steps, gaining strength with every step that he takes.

The power of the bell that once imprisoned him has been broken by its peals. He is unleashed once more; and now, none can ever stop him again.